It Started With A Kiss
by petrelli heiress
Summary: Monty/Noah - not HRG, the other one. One shot. Monty's first kiss is terrible, it leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth, makes him feel dirty. And then Noah arrives back at the apartment. Slash ensues.


**It Started With A Kiss**

**Characters/Pairings: Monty/OMC, Monty/Noah, Simon, Peter**

**Author's Note: I felt bad for almost traumatising Monty in a previous fic and so I gave him Noah (and a bad kiss experience but meh, Noah's the important part).**

**Author's Note 2: If you squint, you might see Peter/Sylar. It always manages to wriggle its way in there somehow. **

**Clarification: By Noah, I mean, Sylar's kid in I Am Become Death. Does this equal a spoiler? If it does, you have been warned. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. No profit is made, etc. And so on and so forth.**

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Monty rushed across the street, fingers shaking as he tried to use his key card on the automatic door. Rain poured down but he ignored it, simply wanting to get inside now now now. The door slid open, stalling as it sometimes did half way. He choked off a sob and pushed it open, rushing towards the creaky lift. He almost slipped, as his wet sandals collided with the linoleum floor. He jabbed at the up button, waiting impatiently as the lift took its own sweet time coming down. It arrived what felt like hours later. He threw himself in and in that small, confined empty space he finally let himself go.

Sobs wracked his skinny frame. He rubbed at his lips over and over, trying to make the feeling go away away away. He clutched at the sides of the lift as it creaked its way up to the fourth floor. He was glad there was no one to see him break down, it was just so stupid. It started out with a kiss, as that Killers song went, how did it end up like this? His first kiss should have been beautiful, a small island of perfection in his otherwise mundane existence. Instead it was all he could do to stop himself from tearing his clothes off as soon as he reached his room and jumping into the shower, to scrub at every inch of skin he'd touched, scrub hard enough so that he bled.

He collapsed on his bed, shaking with half formed sobs. He rushed off a text to Simon but his brother would obviously be much too busy to bother texting him back. He was wrong. Simon immediately replied, sounding worried and slightly frantic. He threatened to come down and teach that son of a bitch a lesson, he'd beat his brain out, he'd tear off his head and use it as a football, he'd do many other things which would be far too graphic to ever relay to anyone else.

Monty gave a shaky smile at that. Someone cared enough at least. He eventually gathered his courage enough to send a text to Sam telling him that the kiss had made him uncomfortable, asking whether they could just be friends. Sam replied almost instantly, sounding absolutely fine with that request.

And yet still something felt off. Monty continued to rub every inch of skin Sam had touched but the feeling of being dirty remained. He attacked the bathroom, cleaning everything in sight with a ferocity that would have surprised him if he wasn't so caught up in trying to forget what it felt like. A kiss, any kiss, shouldn't feel this way. He should be able to close his eyes and give in, not gaze blindly at the wall, Sam's tongue in his throat.

It wasn't that Sam was a guy. Monty had come to terms with his sexuality ages ago. It was just...it was supposed to feel beautiful, magical, lovely. It wasn't supposed to make him sob in an empty lift, make him want to scrub his skin til it bled. And Sam wasn't a bad guy – he was actually pretty cool. Monty had even wondered idly what it would feel like to kiss him.

It was horrible, terrible, a disgrace. It felt dirty, wrong. His skin crawled at the mere thought. He wanted nothing more than to erase its very existence. He wished he had the ability to travel through time, like Uncle Peter's friend Hiro. He could go back and make it all disappear, like it never happened. Why did he have to be stuck with a stupid ability like invisibility? It did not help him in situations like this. It was useless. He didn't want it. Not anymore.

He remembered when Uncle Peter sat him down for a facts of life speech. How he'd said that being gay wasn't anything to be ashamed of, whatever the kids at school said. However he'd obviously lied when he'd said kissing was nice (and, oh ho, Monty certainly knew who he was thinking of when he said that). Everyone had lied, in fact. All the movies he'd seen, the books he'd read, the media, everyone in his entire life had lied – kissing wasn't nice, it was horrible. It left a bad taste in his mouth and made him feel dirty.

He was just about to settle into a nice good wallow, curling into his pillows with his laptop nestled on his knees, the third disc of Buffy season six already inserted and ready to play, when his roommate Noah entered the apartment. He waited, listening as his roommate rummaged around in the kitchen, hoping that Noah wouldn't come into his room. He just needed to be alone, with Buffy and junk food for company.

Unfortunately it appeared that the Powers That Be were not up to answering his prayers today because Noah chose that moment to open the door and peer into the room. His face lit up at the sight of Monty curled up in bed and he walked deeper into the room. He faltered, frowning, as he registered the despondent look on his friend's face.

"Monty, what's the matter?" Noah asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Monty curled his feet away from him, the movement making Noah's frown deepen. "What happened?"

Monty cleared his throat, unable to say what he felt. Eventually Noah managed to wrestle the story from him, albeit with a marked reluctance that just made him wonderful in Monty's eyes.

Noah's reaction was different from Simon's. He didn't threaten to cut off Sam's manhood and thus leave him bereft of the ability to procreate, although if Monty had been a mind reader like Mr. Parkman he wouldn't have been very far off the mark as to what Noah was thinking. Instead Noah merely wrapped his arms around his friend and let him cry out all of his frustration.

Monty's sobs eventually subsided. The feeling of being rocked in Noah's arms almost lulled him to sleep. Then he was blinking up at Noah, who was smiling down at him. The moment felt still, like the calm before a storm, tension needing release.

Noah sighed softly and Monty felt his heart flutter at the sound. "I really don't think we should," Noah muttered, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

"I..." Monty began, wanting to agree. Then he decided to throw caution to the wind, surging forward to devour Noah's mouth, pushing him down into the mattress and crawling on top of him. He felt Noah's hands drag themselves under his shirt and along his spine, fingers trying to trace every single thing with a needy desperation that turned Monty's legs to jelly. He was thankful he was lying on the bed, otherwise he might very well have fallen over.

Kissing Noah didn't feel wrong, or intrusive, or dirty. It was languid, slow, exploratory. At first it was only the press of lips against lips, and then tongues were introduced, slowly and with an almost excruciating patience. Monty brought his hands up, cupping Noah's cheeks, because this was it, this was what kisses should be like. Beautiful. Magical. Heaven.

They eventually broke apart, their breaths at first harsh but slowly subsiding into calm. Noah gazed up at him, a small smile on lips he'd just been kissing. "Well," he said, sounding far too satisfied with himself. As per usual. He always thought he knew best. "If I had known you felt this way about me, Monty, I would have done this much sooner."

Monty simply gazed at him, wondering how exactly this had come about. Okay, he knew how it had come about but...why? Had Noah always felt this way about him? If so, why hadn't he said anything?

Okay, technically Noah was Uncle Peter's son. Not his biological son but whatever. Mere semantics. And Noah was a few years younger than he was (although, according to Noah himself, his intellect was far superior and bypassed such petty things like age). So, they could have played a part. They certainly had with Monty.

Anyway he'd always assumed Noah was straight.

Obviously not.

Or, at least, not totally straight.

Hmm, he liked this the more he thought about it.

"Noah..." he breathed, fingers tracing their way down his friend's cheek, along the side of his jaw, around the shell of his ear. He smiled, a little dazed, as Noah closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, a sound that seemed a lot like a purr issuing unbidden from his throat.

"I've been waiting so long for this," Noah murmured, eyes fluttering open. "You have no idea."

Monty gave him a confused look because, well, if Noah had been harbouring some burning passion for him, he was sure good at hiding it.

"Ever since my sixteenth birthday, when you wore that stupid hat," Noah replied to his silent question, laughing at the memory. "You looked so adorable, I just couldn't help myself."

Monty's brow furrowed. "You thought the hat was stupid?" he enquired plaintively. That hat had been a gift from his half-sister Claire! He'd thought it was awesome.

"Oh yes," Noah said, grinning. "In an entirely awesome way, of course." His grin softened into a smile and now it was his turn to run his fingers over Monty's features, memorising them with both hands and eyes. "Do you still feel dirty?"

Monty shook his head. "No, not anymore." He settled himself down beside Noah, entwining their fingers.

After a moment, Noah said, "You know, this is actually a very uncomfortable position."

Monty had to agree. So they ended up curled around each other, the laptop between them, watching avidly as Captain Kirk strode purposefully around the Enterprise (Noah having insisted on a change in TV show).

Monty clutched at Noah's hand, his anchor, the metaphorical storm that had threatened dissipating around him as the real life storm raged on outside.

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**Where are these absolutely weird one shots coming from? I don't know. Writing this one was therapeutic though.**

**Review please. **


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